


Lost & Found

by wagamiller



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 5 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:18:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5323727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wagamiller/pseuds/wagamiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 ways Oliver reacts when something bad happens to Felicity.</p><p>Spec fic for the s4 mid-season finale, ish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost & Found

**Author's Note:**

> The full title of this is really: 4 ways Stephen Amell thinks Oliver would react if something bad happened to Felicity[(x)](http://olicity-i-believe-in-you.tumblr.com/post/133693395226/stephen-amell-heroes-villains-fanfest-if) and one other way that I made up because I had a burning need to make it fit a '5 things' fic
> 
> There are no actual spoilers for 4x09 but this does play around with some of the speculation I've seen round and about, so tread carefully if you are extremely spoiler averse. 
> 
> Unbeta'd so please excuse any mistakes. Even though I don't think this is remotely what will happen, I still wanted to get it out before any promos appeared for 4x09 and jossed this entirely, hence the hasty posting.

  

* * *

 

_1\. Confusion_

He dreams of Sara.

The Queen’s Gambit is listing, seawater is rushing in on all sides, and Sara is going to drown. He knows it, even as he dives across the cabin for her hand, he already knows he won’t save her. After all these years, the nightmare is familiar, almost routine. Still, he tries. He holds out his hand and he’s close, so close he can brush the tips of her fingers with his own, when the cabin shatters apart around them. Sara calls his name, over and over, right up until the water takes her. Like always.

But this time when he opens his mouth to scream, it isn’t Sara’s name on his lips.

The scene blurs. Changes. There’s no yacht, no storm, no howling wind. There is a limo and two broken champagne flutes and pain, something wet and hot running down the side of his face. There’s the ice cold water of the bay, it’s pouring in through the broken windows and Felicity is calling his name and he can’t, he _can’t_ reach her. Her engagement ring glints on her outstretched hand and then she’s gone.

Oliver wakes from the nightmare with a start, instinctively reaching out towards Felicity, seeking her reassuring warmth. His hand falls limply off the bed and he frowns, pawing at thin air. Unease steals over him, unfocused and vague. Her hand. There’s something about her hand. Something important. Something that _hurts._

“Felicity?” He opens his eyes, slamming them shut again against the harsh glare of unfamiliar fluorescent lights. Oh. Okay. Hospital bed. He turns his head, wincing at the flare of pain as he opens his eyes again, seeking the chair beside his bed. She’ll be waiting, surely.

“Ollie?” Thea jumps up, leaning over his bed and grabbing his hand. “Oh, thank God. Thank God, you’re awake.”

“Thea?” His throat stings. His head throbs. There’s a strange sort of ache right under his ribs that he knows, somehow, has got nothing to do with any actual injury. “What’s … what’s going on? What happened? Where’s Felicity?”

“Oh!” Thea clamps her lips shut, agony in her eyes. “You don’t remember?”

“Thea.” He squeezes her hand, as tight as he possibly can. “What’s going on?”

“It was Darhk.” Thea takes a breath and when she speaks again, her tone is soft, careful. It terrifies him. “He ... he attacked you both and–”

“We went into the bay,” Oliver interrupts, voice barely there. “Didn’t we?” The dream comes screaming back. The screech of brakes. The icy water. The look in Felicity’s eyes when she realised he wasn’t going to reach her. The way she almost smiled, like it was okay. Like she forgave him. He sits up, ignoring the scream of protest from his ribs at the sudden movement. “Thea, it’s my fault, she got pulled out of the car, I … I lost her–”

“No, no, you didn’t! You didn’t,” Thea says urgently, carefully pushing him back down as he struggles to get out of bed. “She’s alive, Ollie.”

“She’s alive?” Hope flares, white hot and more painful than any agony he’s ever known. “I got her out?” The boat, the car, the bay, the sea, it’s all the same. He can’t sort it out. He scrubs his hands over his face. “I don’t … I can’t remember–”

“All I know is that the ETs found you both on the quayside. They said … they said you were holding her.”

“I—” Clarity returns in an instant, hazy images resolving themselves into order, as sharp and terrifying as the moment they happened. “I remember now.” He pulled himself out of the sinking car, groping blindly for her in the pitch black, panic choking him faster than the filthy water could until ... he saw it. Just a flash of colour, lit by the failing taillights of the car. “I found her.” Her hair. So bright, even in that murky water. “I got us out.”

Thea smiles, tears pooling in her tired eyes. “You saved her life.”

“I need to see her, Thea. Now.”

 

* * *

 

_2\. Desperation_

 

“Felicity Smoak.” He slams into the desk at the nurses’ station, barely able to hold himself up. “I need … what ... what room is she in?”

“Ollie, slow down–”

“Felicity. Smoak.” He bangs his fist on the counter, unfolding his hand quickly to grab onto the edge. A trickle of blood runs down his hand and onto the desk, seeping from where he pulled out his IV line. “Where is she?”

“Mr Queen?” Someone rushes to his side, reaching to support him before he falls. “Mr Queen, you shouldn’t be out of bed–”

“Don’t!” Oliver shoves him, as hard as he can. It’s not much, given how weak he is, but the nurse isn’t expecting it and he stumbles back, losing his balance.

“Ollie!” Thea steadies the nurse, murmuring the apology that Oliver doesn’t have the time for.

There’s no time for anything, anything at all except – “Felicity Smoak. Please, I have to see her. Is she okay? Is she awake?”

“Mr Queen–”

“She’s my”–the word breaks him–“fiancée. _Please._ She’s my fiancée.” Thea gasps from beside him and he turns to her, grabbing her arm to hold himself up. “I just asked her. Before it ... I asked her to marry me, Thea.”

“Let him see her,” Thea says at once, turning back to the nurse. “If you don’t, he’ll just discharge himself. And I’ll help him.”

The nurse surveys them both for a long moment. “Okay.” He jerks his head down the hallway. “Third door on the left.”

Oliver reaches for his hand, grasping it in a feeble attempt at a handshake. “Thank you.”

Felicity’s room is maybe thirty feet away and every single pace towards it is excruciating. Oliver plods forward steadily, leaning half his weight on Thea, his bad knee absolutely screaming in agony. The hospital buzzes with activity around him, pagers beeping, doors shutting, staff moving here and there, but he hears none of it. The only sound in his head is the frantic hitch of his breathing, too fast, and the shuffling of his feet, far, far, too slow. His entire world narrows to the tiny glass window in the door ahead, the one he’ll be able to see her through in about ten seconds time.

“Oliver?” Dig is just slipping out of the room when they reach it and he turns surprised eyes on Oliver and Thea. “What’re you–”

“Is she okay?” Oliver breaks away from Thea’s hold, stumbling the last few steps to the door and all but falling against Diggle. “John, please, is she–”

“She’s stable, but she’s still out,” Dig replies promptly, steadying him with a strong arm around his waist. “Docs say she could wake up anytime now, it’s up to her.”

“But she will”–he curls the fabric of Dig’s shirt under his fist–”she will wake up?”

“There was no significant head trauma on her scans, so yeah, they’re confident that she’ll recover.”

Oliver’s knees buckle out from under him and Dig’s hold on him tightens, the only thing keeping him on his feet.

“Go on, go in and see her.” Dig moves him bodily forward slightly, close enough to peek in through the glass and – oh, _oh,_ there she is.

She’s lying in the exact centre of the bed, blankets tucked tight around her, IV leads trailing from one delicate hand. He leans in closer to the tiny window, close enough that the glass fogs with his breath. She’s so pale. That’s all he can think. There’s always colour in her somewhere, a bright sweep of pink over her lips or a delicate blush over her cheeks. He knows every shade of her skin now, has learned the difference between the colour of her makeup and the colour of her laughter, and this pallor is something new and cruel and so, so _wrong._

“I can’t lose her,” Oliver whispers, his hand poised over the door-handle. “I won’t–”

“You’re not gonna lose her.” Diggle’s hand closes over his, turning the handle for him. “If I know a damn thing about Felicity Smoak it’s that right now, she is just as desperate to get back to you as you are to her.”

“You think?”

“Oliver, I know.”

 

* * *

 

_3\. Complete and utter sadness_

There’s a new bruise blossoming on Felicity’s cheek.

It shows up slowly, like a shadow at first, the purple and black creeping across her skin as the hours pass. Oliver watches it spread, feeling the dull ache of it just the same as if the damage was on his own skin. In the quiet of her hospital room, he adds it to the catalogue of all the marks that Darhk’s attack has left.

The Doctors say her ribs are bruised, for starters, and they’ve wrapped her ankle tight. It could be fractured, maybe sprained, they don’t know yet. There’s a deep gash over her eye, thin and red and sore, the skin held together by butterfly sutures. Scratches and bruises cover her arms, just like they do his, and he knows there’ll be more, hidden under the rough hospital cotton. He knows something else too and it's that knowledge that slowly eats away at him as the night drags on – the real marks will be the ones that aren’t on her skin at all. If Darhk has made her afraid, if he has dimmed one tiny bit of the light in her eyes, Oliver knows he’ll never forgive himself.

When dawn comes, Donna stirs awake on the cot in the corner. The movement startles him and he jumps a mile, covering it with a cough that pulls at his aching ribs.

“How is she?” Donna asks, rubbing at the smudged mascara under her eyes.

“No change,” he says dully, letting go of Felicity’s hand to run a hand over his jaw, scrubbing at the longer than usual growth there. Felicity will complain that it’s too scratchy if – _when_ – she wakes up.

“She’ll be up soon, I bet. She’s strong, our girl.” There’s a steel in Donna’s voice that he envies, that he can’t seem to find in his own. She turns shrewd eyes on him. “Did you sleep at all?”

Oliver shrugs, hissing when the motion makes his shoulder throb. “I can’t.”

“I wish you’d try. You’re barely in better shape than she is–”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts, waving an impatient hand. “The hospital actually released me a couple hours ago.”

“You’re pretty far from fine, hon–”

“I have to be here, Donna.” He reaches for Felicity’s cold hand again, covering it with both of his and holding on tight, just like he couldn’t do in that limo. A flash of red on her fingers catches his eye, something he didn’t notice before. It’s the remains of her nail polish, the exact shade of red that he watched her apply so carefully before they left for the party. She should be flashing those red nails at everyone now, the ring glinting brightly on her finger. There shouldn’t be a single chip in that manicure. “When she wakes up, I have to be right here.”

Donna swings her legs off the side of the bed, gripping the edge tighter than necessary, her eyes fixed on Felicity’s face. “She told me, y’know, about the engagement.”

“Yeah?”

“She texted me from ... from the car. Only time she’s ever used as many exclamations points as I do.”

“Really?”

“She was …” Donna smiles, eyes only for her daughter. “God, Oliver, she was _ecstatic._ ”

“So was I.” His breath catches and that’s it, he can’t seem to find the next, or the next, until suddenly he’s crying. And fuck, it hurts. The sobs rattle through his aching chest, each one like a punch to his bruised ribs, until it feels like he’s falling apart. He pitches forward, hiding his face, his forehead pressed against his hand where it holds hers.

“Oliver?”

He freezes. Felicity’s voice is strained, weak and thin, but it’s _her._ He lifts his head up slowly, not daring to speak, to breath. Even his tears stop, suspended in his eyes, swimming there until his vision blurs. He blinks them away, and she comes into focus. Alive. Awake. He swallows down a moan, squeezing her hand where it still lies in his. “Felicity?”

“What’s going on?” She blinks slowly, like every movement hurts. Then, suddenly, her red eyes fly open wide. “Oliver! Are you–”

“I’m right here,” he says, running a careful hand over her face, curling his fingers around her jaw. “See? You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

“Oliver.” Felicity leans into his hand and he’s ruined, or he’s saved, he’s really not sure which, because she _smiles_  at him. “You’re okay.”

He smiles right back, beaming through his tears and leaning over to brush a careful kiss against her chapped lips. “I am now."

* * *

 

_4\. Unbridled rage_

 

“No way. I’m not leaving you.”

“You’ll be gone an hour, tops,” Felicity replies patiently, rolling her eyes in Dig’s general direction. “What if I promise to be asleep the whole time?”

“That’s not–”

“Dig will be right here with me. Lance has more than half of SCPD lining every hallway. And I swear I heard one of the nurses say something about seeing Iron Man on the roof so I’m pretty sure Ray’s back in town. I’ll be totally safe.”

“But–”

“Nope. No arguments. You’ve been here for ... well, I don’t know how long actually but a really long time, I’m betting. Go home. Shave. Take a shower.” Her voice drops out a little and she coughs, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “Uh ... unless you’re feeling as water averse as I am right now. In which case, I totally understand. But change out of those scrubs they gave you, at least. They’re giving me very confusing Grey’s Anatomy fantasies right now.”

“Felicity–”

“And get me some things as well, please. They said they might keep me in another night.”

“Thea can get–”

“You know what I like, though,” she wheedles. “Sue me, I’m in the hospital, I want the comfy pyjamas.”

“Felicity–”

“Unless the next words out of your mouth are ‘I’ll see you in an hour’ I don’t want to hear it.”

He shakes his head, leaning down to brush a kiss against her forehead. “I love you.”

“Ah, good enough,” she says, tilting her chin up in a wordless request for a proper kiss.

He obliges, curling a hand around her ear, tucking a stray strand of her hair out of the way. “One hour, tops.”

“Oh, and Oliver?”

"Hmm?"

“Toothbrushes, yeah? We both swallowed a lot of that water.”

For the first time in days, he laughs.

 

\--

 

Forty minutes later, he’s on course to keep his promise easily, dozing in the passenger seat of Thea’s car as she drives them back to the hospital. She takes the slightly longer route without a word, the one that avoids the riverside road, and he loves her for it. The journey passes in a blur of green lights and familiar streets glimpsed through half closed eyes until Thea slams on the brakes just outside the hospital parking lot.

His eyes fly open, immediately landing on what Thea spotted – the sleek black car gliding to a stop beside them.

“Darhk?” Thea asks, her hands tight on the steering wheel.

Oliver doesn’t answer, just reaches for the door handle and steps out onto the road. Rage, red hot and familiar as an old friend, fills his head with static as Damien Darhk slides smoothly from the back seat of the black car.

“Mr Queen.” Darhk smiles indulgently as Thea gets out of the driver’s seat and swiftly takes up position at Oliver’s side. “Ms Queen.”

“What do you want?” Thea bites out.

“To enquire after the health of my favourite mayoral candidate,” Darhk says guilelessly, shrugging. “And Ms Smoak too, of course.”

“Don’t–” Thea’s restraining hand on his arm is all that keeps Oliver still, and even that is barely enough. “Don’t talk about her.”

“Oh, I assure you, I am not the one saying her name that you should be concerned about,” Darhk says, wagging a disapproving finger. “Do you know how many Felicitys there are in Star City who can do the sorts of things I’ve heard her doing for the Green Arrow and his team? Not many, that’s for sure.”

Reason, self-preservation, sanity, it all flies out of Oliver’s head. He shrugs off Thea’s arm, taking one more deliberate step forward and Darhk … he just stands there.

Then, ever so quietly, he laughs. “She should really think about a codename. For her own safety.”

Fury erupts under Oliver’s skin, boiling his blood and stirring some energy into his bones. He raises a fist, aiming for Darhk’s face, and Darhk simply raises one hand between them. Oliver knows it’s probably some mystical bullshit, that his fist is just going to glance back off some invisible barrier, but he doesn’t care. He has to try. Even if he fails, even if Darhk’s magic shatters every bone in his hand, _he has to try._ This man hurt Felicity, he made her afraid, he made her scream, and that is all Oliver is thinking as he raises his fist and smashes it, hard and furious, right into Darhk’s face.

Darhk reels back, stumbling away from Oliver, struggling to mask the shock on his face. He holds a hand to his face, massaging the skin there, and there’s something new in his eyes now, it’s only subtle, but it’s there ... he’s afraid. Oliver makes another sudden move forward and a vicious pleasure courses through his veins when Darhk jerks away, panic flashing across his face.

“I’ll  … give you a little time,” Darhk says, straightening the lapels of his suit. His voice is not quite even, the effect no longer so chilling. “Think about what happened, Mr Queen. What happens next is up to you.”

“I already know what happens next,” Oliver says calmly, already moving back towards the car. “I was going to stop you anyway, because you came after my city. Now you’ve come after my family.” He stops, turning back to Darhk. “And I will destroy you for it.”

 

* * *

 

_5\. Tenderness_

No matter how many of Tatsu’s breathing techniques he tries in the elevator, Oliver is still a little keyed up when he gets back inside the hospital. Heart racing, he juggles the holdall from one skittish hand to the next and hurries down the hallway to Felicity’s room, leaving Thea trailing in his wake. With a swift nod to the SCPD Officer on the threshold, he heads inside, summoning a smile for Felicity.

“See? I wasn’t even gone an–” The smile slides right off his face. Felicity is right where he left her except ... she’s not where he left her at all. He left her sleepy and smiling, colour flooding back into her face. There’s no trace of any of that now. She’s restless, tear tracks all over her cheeks and a wildness in her eyes that he’s never seen before. “What’s wrong?”

“Oliver.” Breath catching, she holds out one wavering hand for his.

“I’m here.” He moves quickly, crossing the room in two strides and it’s still not fast enough, can never be fast enough, because she’s looking at him like he’s only thing that can keep her from falling apart. “I’m right here.” He takes her hand in his, casting a frantic questioning glance at Donna and Diggle as they move to slip from the room. “What’s going on?”

Felicity waits until the door closes behind Diggle and her Mom before she lets out a little cry, tugging Oliver’s hand up with hers until it rests against her cheek. His touch seems to ground her a little and she almost smiles, pressing her cheek against his hand.

“Talk to me, Felicity–”

“It’s nothing,” she says, huffing out an embarrassed little laugh. “Really. I’m just being stupid.”

“Not sure that’s even possible.” He perches on the edge of her bed, bobbing his head to make her meet his eyes.

She lets out a breath, tugging his hand down to rest against her heart. “Let’s just say you not being here wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had.”

“I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have–”

“Hey, no, no guilt from you, thank you,” she says, shaking her head so vehemently that her hair falls in her face. He tucks it out of the way with his free hand, letting his palm linger for a moment around her jaw. “It was my idea. I just ... I was still feeling a little out of it and when I woke up and you weren’t here, I sort of … panicked, I guess.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he says softly, drawing his hands down to her arms, running them up and down her cold skin, trying to ignite some warmth there. “And I brought you something...” He jumps down from the bed, rummaging in the bag at his feet and extracting her glasses case. “Here. Figured you’d be missing them.”

“Yes!” Felicity holds her hands out eagerly for the frames, grabbing at thin air until he brings them to her. She slips them on and sighs. “Oh.” Half a smile chases its way across her face as she takes him in. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” he agrees, settling back on the edge of her bed and taking her hand again. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” Lifting his hand to her lips, she presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Hey.” She jerks back, eyeing the redness there suspiciously. “What’s this? This wasn’t here before?”

“It’s nothing,” he says, already knowing the deflection won’t work.

“Oliver…”

“Okay, okay, it’s something.” He sighs, trying to put off the inevitable. “I … kind of punched Damien Darhk in the face.”

“What?” Fury, not fear, floods her voice. “You didn’t.”

“I saw him outside–”

She drops his hand. “Outside _here_?”

“Hey, it’s okay, he was never getting inside the building.” His stomach twists as she glances around the room, as though it’s suddenly hiding something sinister. “I think he just wanted to try and spook me.”

“And did he?”

“No,” he says, catching her gaze and holding it so she can’t miss the certainty there. “I spooked him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She lifts her chin, bruised, defiant, and so, so, beautiful. “Good.”

“We’ll figure this out, Felicity,” he says impulsively, throat tight. “I promise–”

“Promise me that you mean that,” she interrupts, jabbing at his chest with her index finger. “ _We’ll_ figure this out. No running off alone, okay? No making plans without me, not ever. Because if you go and get yourself killed when we’ve just gone to all this trouble not to die, I swear to God, Oliver, I will be so freaking mad.”

“I promise.” It startles him how easily the words come, how completely he means it. “We’ll do this together.”

Felicity smiles and it’s so close, so damn close, to reaching her eyes. His heart clenches in anticipation, waiting for a flush of colour to spread on her cheeks, but it never comes. Instead, she pushes out a tremulous breath and closes her eyes, her smile falling away.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?”

She drops her head, staring at her hands as they grab fistfuls of the blanket pooling in her lap.

“Hey, you can tell me.” He tucks his hand under her chin, lifting her head up gently until she meets his gaze. Her eyes fly away, flitting about the room, and that hesitation, god, it guts him. “Felicity, you can tell me anything.”

“I–” She sucks in a breath, her eyes fixed on a random spot over his shoulder. “I lost the ring.”

“What?”

“The engagement ring,” she repeats, waving her left hand in his face, the words pouring out of her now. “I thought maybe they took it off me in the ER but when you were gone I asked and … and it’s not here. It must have come off in the water.” When she settles her eyes back on his, there is nothing left in them but guilt. “I’m so sorry, Oliver.”

“What?” He reels, barely able to comprehend what she’s saying. “Felicity, you don’t have to apologise–”

She shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. “It was your Mother’s.”

“No.” He takes her hand. “It was yours.”

At that, she crumples.

A sob catches in her throat and the sound tears at something, deep inside him, that he knows won’t be easily repaired. He leans forward, gathering her into his arms, wrapping her up as tightly as he can without hurting her.

“It’s just a ring.” She lets out a little whimper that might be his name, burying her face into the crook of his neck, her lips warm against his collarbone. “I’ll get you another one. Hey–” He pulls back, tucking her hair behind her ears and cupping her face under his hands. “I’ll ... I’ll buy you one for every day of the week if you want.”

“One’s enough.” Felicity huffs out a laugh, tugging at the front of his t-shirt until he leans forward again, pulling her back into his arms.

“You’re freezing.” He slips his hands inside the open back of her hospital gown, running his warm hands over her cold skin. Pulling away, he hops down from the bed. “Hold on–”

“Wait, where are you going?”

“To get this,” he says, pulling one of his hoodies out of the holdall at his feet.

“Is that yours?”

“Yeah.” Suddenly nervous, he folds the sweater over his arm. “I’m sorry, should I not have–”

“No, no, you should. You definitely should,” she interrupts, holding out her hands. “Gimme.”

He sweeps the sweater around her shoulders, waiting for her to pull her arms into the sleeves before tugging the open sides closed over her chest so she can zip it up a little. “There.” He reaches for each of her sleeves, carefully folding them back until her hands peek out. “That’s better.”

Felicity ducks her head to the edge of the neckline, tucking her nose under the fabric. “It smells like fabric softener.”

“That’s a bad thing?”

She shrugs. “I wanted it to smell like you.”

"Oh." It feels a little like his heart might break, or burst, he's not sure. “I can help with that.” Smiling, he climbs into the bed beside her and carefully puts his arms around her, watchful of her injuries.

Felicity tucks herself into him, as close as she can get, until she’s almost completely wrapped up in him. Oliver breathes out, taking his first easy breaths since they got into that car, what feels like a million years ago.

“You really don’t mind?” Felicity asks after a moment, staring at her bare hand where it rests against his chest. “About the ring?”

“I mind if you mind,” he says, pressing a kiss into her hair. “But Felicity, honestly, if that ring is all we lost that night? I can live with that.”

Felicity releases a breath, burrowing even further into his embrace, knocking her glasses a little as she tries to get even closer. “Me too.”

“Besides,” he adds, giving her a gentle squeeze. “That night was never about the ring for me, not really. It was about us.”

Felicity sounds a strangled note of approval in her throat, reaching up and missing his lips in her hurry to kiss him. “I really, really, love you, y’know.” Laughing, she kisses along the side of his jaw, then to the edge of his lips, drawing a groan from him when she finally, finally, presses her lips to his.

He tightens his hold on her, sweeping his tongue gently over hers, feeling her shiver, feeling her cold skin warming up at last, everywhere he touches her. When she eventually pulls back, she is breathless, beaming, and warm, _finally,_ warm. Something a lot like joy surges in his chest because there is light in her eyes and colour in her cheeks again, and he knows now that they didn’t lose a single thing that matters. Not one single thing.

“Marry me.”

She laughs, pressing a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw. “I already said yes.”

He beams at her. “Say it again.”

“Yes.” Felicity tucks herself back into his embrace. “Yes, yes, yes.”

 


End file.
